


Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

by yodasyoyo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Together, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Derek, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Life, Miscarriage, Stillbirth, Surrogacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's life so far has been marked by tragedy. So he's always found it hard to relax and embrace the happiness he's found with Stiles. He tries though. He tries so damn hard. </p><p>The thing is, the more he has of life with Stiles, the more he wants, and the more he has to lose.</p><p>Or: Derek learns to accept that even though bad things can and do happen, it's not always his fault. He is allowed to want good things, and sometimes he may even get to keep them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sterekfluffer (teampancakes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teampancakes/gifts).



> The title and the quotes throughout are taken from Alice In Wonderland. All from the book except one that comes from the Tim Burton Film. They just seemed to fit. 
> 
> Thanks to M for the beta :D
> 
> Written for the Teen Wolf Fall Harvest 2015.  
> Sterekfluffer (teampancakes). I kind of took your initial prompt and then expanded on it, it's not quite what you asked for, TBH It kind of got away from me a bit but I hope you like it.
> 
> Fair warning, this fic is really angsty in places, but it does have a happy and a hopeful ending. Read the tags though and if you think something maybe triggering then maybe check out the end notes.

o0o

_In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again._

o0o

 

The thing about having a conversation with Stiles is he's easily distracted.

Well, that's not entirely true.

Stiles is actually very focused. He just has no control over what his brain is going to choose to focus _on,_ which means he _appears_ to be distracted a lot.

It's a subtle but significant distinction.

Derek knows that, he _knows_ that when Stiles disappears off on some verbal tangent, it's not because he doesn't care or that he's deliberately trying to be difficult. It's just that there are a million thoughts fizzing around in Stiles' brain, jostling for priority. Last Friday when Derek got in he asked Stiles how his day went. It's a simple question. Instead of an answer, Derek got a five minute monologue on why the teleporters in Star Trek while theoretically possible probably weren't going to happen in real life. Stiles' brain made about fifteen free associations in thirty seconds which took him from work to Star Trek, and all Derek got to hear was the end result. 

It's a habit that's confusing, frustrating and  _utterly_ Stiles.

Take this morning, just another lazy Sunday breakfast together a little over a year into their relationship. They pad about the kitchen in Derek's apartment, scrounge some food together and Derek asks Stiles if he wants a coffee. Instead of an answer, Stiles talks for five minutes on the etymology of the word 'baroque.' Derek listens with fond exasperation, before finally growling out, "What's this got to do with coffee Stiles?"  
  
Stiles looks confused and says, “Bach wrote the Coffee Cantata as a satire about coffee addiction.”  
  
“And?” 

“And... Bach also wrote a shit ton of stuff for the harpsichord. Harpsichords were used all the time in baroque music,” Stiles says, as he rolls his eyes and crams a slice of buttered toast into his mouth.

Like Derek should have been able to make _that_ set of connections for himself.

Truth be told, Stiles random conversational detours are something Derek only pretends to be annoyed by now. Stiles doesn't buy it when he complains, nobody does any more. Stiles insists Derek finds it endearing, and he's not wrong, but it'd be closer to the truth to say he's kind of in awe of it.

Closer still to say he's in awe of Stiles.

Derek's in awe of his own good luck. After so much tragedy, grief and loss, he gets _this_ with Stiles, and he has ~~~~for over a year.

Stiles, who spends more time at Derek's place now than he does at the apartment he's supposed to be sharing with _Scott_. He's over so much, that it doesn't really feel like it's Derek's home _unless_ Stiles is in it. Stiles, who putters about the apartment messing up all Derek's carefully organized stuff without even realizing it. Stiles, who cranks up the volume to his favorite music and dances round the apartment with wild enthusiasm, trying with varying degrees of success to get Derek to join him. Stiles, who snuggles up on the couch next to him in the evening to watch Netflix, and provides loud, and often sarcastic, commentary on every _single_ damn thing they watch. Stiles, who fidgets in bed at night, always steals the covers and when he does finally drift off  _talks in his fucking sleep_ , because even when he's unconscious his mind never _really_ switches off. Stiles, who googles weird sex stuff on the internet mostly to see if he can make Derek blush, but who has always seemed to know instinctively, from the first moment they started this, exactly what to do and say to blow Derek's mind. Stiles, who has carved out a place for himself in Derek's life, warm, funny, loyal, loving and there, still _there_ after everything they've been through.

The truth is this last year with Stiles is the longest most fulfilling relationship Derek has ever had.

He's so  _fucking_ in love and it terrifies him.

It feels unreal, and part of Derek keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, keeps waiting for Stiles to decide he's had enough. He lays awake in bed at night sometimes, just looking... drinking Stiles in, memorizing every detail, the moles smattering his high cheekbones, the sweep of his dark lashes, even the sound of him mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Derek files every moment away so that when Stiles does, inevitably, end this he'll be able to look back on it all and know that he appreciated every moment, that he recognized all of it for the gift that it was.

However, none of that changes the fact that a conversation with Stiles is basically like tripping and falling down the world biggest Google hole, he never knows where he's going to end up.

Case in point, Derek _still_ isn't sure if Stiles actually wants coffee this morning or not.

The thing is they both get sidetracked. Stiles ends up meandering down some conversational back alley, losing Derek somewhere between the etymology of baroque and Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Derek's leaning against the kitchen counter, he's zoned out, completely losing the thread of the conversation that connected those two. He's about to make Stiles explain it, but he gets distracted when Stiles says casually, “I bet our kids will love Beauty and the Beast, well they'll probably love all the Disney movies. What child doesn't love Disney right? I mean _obviously_ they'll like other movies as well. The Princess Bride was my favorite movie as a kid. Especially Inigo-” and then he's off again on another tangent, (fencing, the benefits of Dyneema and how goats genetically cross-bred with spiders can produce super strong silk in their milk,) but Derek's brain has stalled.

Stalled on the casual way Stiles has said “Our kids-”  
  
Like its a certainty.

Like their future together is assured.

Inevitable even.

For a moment he almost feels like he's plunged his head under water, Stiles voice is muffled and all Derek can hear is the rush and hum of his own blood in his ears, he's suspended in the moment, his normally enhanced senses unable to process anything at all. For a second he can't even bring himself to take a breath.

He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it. He's aware now that his palms are sweating and his hands tremble as he clutches the kitchen counter to steady himself. He forces himself to suck in a deep breath, then another and then swallows round the burning lump that's appeared in his throat.

He blinks back tears rapidly, feeling mortified and confused.

Derek can't understand what's happening, he's gone from faking bemused annoyance to the verge of some kind of panic attack or shock in about three seconds flat. 

Except.  
  
Except it's not panic.

Shock maybe. It could be shock, but there's something else as well.

There's a weird confused jumble of emotions that's threatening to burst out of his chest. Happiness, excitement, fear, anticipation, all morphing together into one throbbing, gut-wrenching feeling that he can't identify at all. Until it dawns on him- this is hope. Hope for a future for with Stiles. He's never allowed himself to even consider the possibility of it. Never thought anyone would actually want that with him. While he knows Stiles cares for him, loves him even, he's always assumed that it was just a phase for Stiles. That Stiles would get tired of dealing with Derek's shit. He fully expected Stiles to move on eventually to whoever he was _meant_ to be with, probably someone easier, safer or at least less moody,  and now here Stiles is just assuming... just casually talking about their  _kids_  like it's _going_ to happen. He's always supposed that Stiles didn't...  
  
That he wouldn't want...

That...

He surges forward, pushes Stiles back against the wall, cups his face in his hands and kisses him, pours every feeling, every ounce of amazed gratitude he has into it. Stiles flails in surprise, and drops his toast. Derek doesn't give a shit, and Stiles, though initially startled, responds enthusiastically, licking into Derek's mouth and giving just as good as he gets. When they eventually pull apart, they're both panting and hard. Derek leans his hands on the wall either side of Stiles and buries his face into the crook of his neck, caging him in, keeping him there; he feels dizzy, his heart hammering wildly as he breathes in the scent of him.

Stiles smells happy, aroused and maybe just a teeny bit confused.

“Hey...” Stiles says tentatively, his long fingers gently massaging Derek's neck, “Hey... not that I'm complaining, but what brought that on? Are you okay Sourwolf?”

How affectionate that name sounds now. The tender, coaxing way Stiles says it in this moment, reflecting the seismic shift in their relationship over the last year or so. Derek knows he needs to calm down and order his thoughts so he can get this right, and he inhales deeply, trying to use Stiles' scent to anchor himself.

Stiles waits quietly, but Derek can sense the tension growing in him, the stiffening of his posture, the rabbit quick beat of his heart picking up. Derek's not faring much better. He needs to say _something,_ but he feels raw, and anything he says now will leave him more exposed, more vulnerable.

He's never been good with words.

Especially not when they need to convey so much and this  _matters._

This could be everything.

“You said 'our'” he says finally, his voice muffled by Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles doesn't respond immediately, and Derek angles his head slightly trying to see Stiles' face. Stiles looks confused and the truth is he probably can't remember _what_ he's been rambling about this morning, he can't remember what 'our' Derek is referring to. Reluctantly Derek leans back a little.

“You said 'our kids',” Derek repeats feeling ridiculously shy, “I- we've never – you...” He trails off. Unable to say more in case Stiles snatches this moment back.

Stiles blushes crimson, “Ah- Oh- well, heh, I just mean, hypothetically, it's not like I think about that stuff...” Stiles' heart stutters. _Lie._ “Ha! I mean, no pressure... I know we haven't really talked about our, I mean _the_ future or... I was just, y'know, rambling. I do that. It's a fault really. You know that.” His voice is souring with anxiety and embarrassment, he's trying to back track, but Derek can read his scent and his heartbeat and he _knows_. He knows in that moment that Stiles wants a future with him too.

Rationally Derek knows he should back away now, break things off, maybe even make Stiles hate him a little. Nothing good ever happens to the people Derek loves, but this is  _Stiles,_  this is the happiest, the safest, the most at home Derek has felt in  _years_ and before he can even really process it, for once he blurts out exactly what's in his heart.

“Marry me.”

Stiles gapes, pales, his arms drop to his sides. “Wha-” he manages.

Derek can't believe what he's done, Stiles would say he makes a habit out of flinging himself rashly at hopeless situations without a decent plan. He's not wrong. Even now Derek is floundering, his head screaming at him that he shouldn't have asked, while his heart knows that there's nothing he wants more. Now he's said it he's going to stand by it, he knows it's everything he wants and he can't – he won't take it back. Not for anything. 

“Marry me,” he says again, hope fueling his courage, even as his hands tremble.

Stiles stands there dumbstruck, gaze fixed on Derek, his mouth works soundlessly.

Six years Derek has known him, and this is the first time he's ever seen Stiles speechless. He can't tell if its a good sign or not, and after a minute, panic and disappointment begin to set in.

“You don't have to answer now,” Derek says, schooling his features into impassivity, his heart aching. He starts to pull away.  _Stupid. He should have known better_. “I know we haven't really talked abou-”  
  
“Yes!” Stiles says, launching himself at Derek. He bridges the gap between them in an instant, cupping Derek's face in his hands, “Sorry, I'm so sorry, you just caught me off guard, but I don't need to think, I already know and my answer is yes. Yes! Yes! I'll marry you!” He laughs, giddy and excited, while Derek clutches on to him in astonishment.   
  
Stiles leans in and kisses him tenderly. “Yes, I'll marry you,” he repeats softly, pressing sweet, gentle kisses down Derek's neck. “Oh God Der! I am going to marry the _fuck_ out of you.”

Derek snorts with laughter, relief and amazement coursing through him as they sink to the floor kissing frantically. Their breakfast is forgotten, the coffee a distant memory.

 

o0o

 _It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then_  
  
o0o

 

One of Derek's most vivid childhood memories is playing tag with his sisters and cousins, and falling headlong into a thick nest of blackberry bushes and nettles where the garden met the edge of the preserve. It had been painful, especially because blackberry prickles had embedded in his bare flesh only for the skin to grow back over them. He could feel them underneath though, little raw pressure points that dug in and made themselves known whenever he so much as flexed a muscle. They were impossible to ignore, and in the end he'd scratched and picked clumsily at them, trying to dig them out.

He had been closed to tears when his Mom found him. She made him sit down and helped him carefully extract them one by one. It had been painful and unpleasant, but once it was over he had felt such relief.

When he first meets Stiles he's reminded of that incident. From the moment they crash into each others lives, Stiles somehow manages to set up home under Derek's skin, pushing at all his tenderest points, needling him constantly. No matter what he's doing, Stiles demands Derek's attention. He irritates him in a way he can't remember anyone else doing. Only this time, no matter how  frustrated he gets, there is no relief.

 

They seem to argue with each other over every little thing.

_Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out. With my teeth._

 

The thing is, Stiles refuses to walk away, he's unpredictable, constantly subverting Derek's expectations. It's confusing and disorientating.

_I'm the one keeping you alive, okay, have you noticed that?_

_You don't trust me, I don't trust you. But you need me to survive which is why you're not letting me go.  
_

 

At his worst he seems to see right inside Derek's soul, and know exactly which buttons to press, which scab to pick at, until Derek feels raw.

_Are you telling me what to do now? When your psychotic, mass murdering girlfriend, the second one you've dated by the way, has got my dad somewhere, tied up waiting to be ritually sacrificed?_

 

Derek doesn't get Stiles. He doesn't get why Stiles gets _to_ him so much either. Nothing about Stiles makes sense.

Nothing.

_Is there any reason why my name is on the King?_

 

It's like they're two puzzle pieces that don't quite fit, but the universe keeps trying to force them together.

It doesn't matter though.

They can't seem to calibrate their relationship. There's plenty of emotion, there's no question they care, but they're not what anyone would call friends. Over the years Derek's managed to forge good relationships with every other member of the pack. He and Stiles though... they are constantly bumping heads. Try as they might, they never seem to find their groove, they can never find the right rhythm to take them from awkward allies to true friendship. There's just something... not right about it, about _them_. As much as he likes Stiles, as much he cares, and he _knows_ he does, they can't make it work. Derek can't understand it and it's so  _fucking_ frustrating.

He finds himself looking at Stiles sometimes trying to puzzle it out. Sometimes he catches Stiles looking back at him, with exasperation, confusion and _longing._ Derek recognizes the sentiment only too well, in those moments he knows Stiles feels it too, that strange sense of dissatisfaction. They're both trying, they both want to make it work, so why won't it? It doesn't make any sense.

It continues to not make sense, right up until it does.

There's a coven of witches, an ancient prophecy, trolls, curses, a big battle. A whole apocalyptic shit-fest in the grand Beacon Hills tradition. Once again they're thrown together. Once again, they're hurling themselves in front of danger to rescue each other, while Scott steps up and True-Alphas his way out of yet another crisis.

In the aftermath Stiles herds Derek into his Jeep, and drives them back to Derek's apartment block while they argue heatedly. When they arrive he follows Derek up the stairs, all the way to his front door. Derek doesn't think to question it as he unlocks his apartment and Stiles storms inside, he's just too angry and afraid.

“ _You just never fucking get it do you, you don't heal...”_  
  
“You could have died dumbass...”

“ _I would have been fine idiot, better if you hadn't...”_  
  
“You stupid fucking...”

“ _Me? You're the mother-fucking asshole who...”_

The insults flow thick and fast, just another post-apocalypse-thank-god-you're-alive argument. Derek learned a long time ago that this is the closest he and Stiles get to showing that they care, because they _do_ care, even if they can't seem to sublimate that affection into a functioning friendship.

The argument is going round in circles, until they're toe to toe, red faced and screaming at each other, when Stiles finally snorts, “Fucking take better care of yourself dumbass!” and grabs Derek's shirt in his fist yanking him in for an angry kiss.

Derek's so shocked he doesn't even try to resist.

In terms of actual technique, the kiss isn't that great. The angle's off, their teeth clash and they're were both still covered in troll intestines. Also, Derek's stunned, unable to move, unable to reciprocate, completely stupefied by what's happening, and yet- something settles deep in his gut as he feels Stiles' chapped lips move against his own.

This is _right._

This is _them_.

No wonder their friendship never really hit its stride.

They were never meant to be _just_ friends.

Stiles pulls away from the kiss, eyes wide and nervous. Derek can already see Stiles' brain working, can even anticipate the words rising to Stiles' lips. He can tell he's getting ready to apologize and make excuses, can see he's willing to step back through the looking glass and try to reclaim their awkward not-quite-a-friendship.

Derek can't let that happen, he _won't_ and finally he's spurred into action. He reels Stiles back in and stops his mouth with a kiss before any of that anxiety can make itself heard. He makes it gentler. Slower. It builds though, the rough friction of stubble and the smooth, slick, slide of tongue. Hard lines and hot breath, that lead to shared gasps and moans. It's everything he never knew he ever wanted and he can feel every cell in his body waking up to respond under Stiles' trembling hands.

This is _where_ he is supposed to be.  
  
This is _who_ he's meant to be with.

It's almost too much, and eventually Derek pulls back a little, breathing hard.

“Oh God,” Stiles mumbles, leaning in to drop kisses along Derek's jaw, “you're unbelievable. I can't... I can't even... do you know how much you infuriate me?” he says between kisses, “do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you?”

Derek can feel himself shivering under Stiles ministrations but the comforting stream of chatter anchors him, it's always anchored him. He slips his hands under Stiles' t-shirt and starts to work at his belt, hands shaking.

“ _Fuck,”_ Stiles hisses shuddering as Derek's hands graze his bare skin. “Yeah, that, lets do that... _fuck..._ Der... you're perfect. So perfect.”

Derek stills and inhales shakily. He _knows_ that's not true, but he's not about to argue it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Stiles, pulling him in tight and buries his face in the crook of Stiles' neck breathing deeply.

_Fuck._

_How has he ever lived without this?_

_What the_ fuck _have they been doing?_

He lifts his head and kisses Stiles again, pressing him up against the wall, their body's melding together. He grinds up against him until he can't tell where Stiles ends and he begins.

He can't _say_ what he feels, and in the moment it seems easier to just show it.

Stiles seems to understand though.

 

o0o

_"I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!"_

o0o

 

Derek still misses his family.

He misses big family dinners on full moon nights.

The way family life is just one wild, rambunctious free-for-all.

The noise.

The arguments.

The love.

The sense of belonging.

Its been years since he had that really, Cora notwithstanding. He's not even going to pretend to include Peter. The fire swallowed Derek's house and all physical traces of his family, he doesn't even have photographs. All he has are memories, and they are a slowly fading, sepia, curled and yellowing at the edges. More often than not now, only the emotion attached to the memories remains. A _sense_ of belonging, a _feeling_ of contentment or wholeness. One day he worries he won't fully be able to remember his mother's face, or the sound of her voice. He lays awake at night trying to remember the scent of his Grandmother. He tries to call to mind his Dad's strong hands, that always made him feel so safe, or the way Laura's eyes would crinkle at the edges when she laughed.

There are days where it all seems so distant.

He misses them. He always will, but it's a dull, steady ache now, not the all consuming pain that burned with cold, unrelenting fury in his chest a few years back.

Sometimes he feels guilty about that, but ultimately he knows his family wouldn't want him to. They wouldn't want him to shut himself away, to refuse to live out of guilt, self-loathing or fear. It's taken him a long while to see that, but he's making progress. The best way to honor their memories, the best revenge he can ever take on Kate, is to live. To live fully and love freely. To be happy.

It's not easy or natural for him in the wake of so much loss, but he tries, he tries to embrace life.

He tries so damn hard.

He mostly succeeds.

He belongs to Stiles now. Stiles belongs to him. They have rings to prove it and a piece of paper. There was a ceremony and a party, the whole shebang. Their friends and pack gathered round them, wished them well and joked about how long it took for them to get there.

Life is good.

Some nights, he and Stiles lay next to each other, sweaty and sated, laughing softly together at a shared joke, their bodies a tangle of limbs in the twisted sheets.

In those moments Derek breathes in the scent of him.

The scent of _them_

He has a family again. A pack. It's more then he ever expected and immeasurably more then he feels he deserves. He's already inadvertently caused the death of one pack. Already wiped out one family.

He doesn't want to lose this.  
  
He doesn't want to fuck things up again.

He _won't._

There are days when he's just so scared though, days where he's terrified. In those moments part of him just wants to run away. He can acknowledge to himself that in some ways it was easier when he hadn't let Stiles in, easier when he was still alone.

When he'd already lost everything there was nothing else for the universe to take, and there was safety in that, but not happiness.

On his darkest days he tells himself that if he leaves now and walks away, he'll be saving Stiles in the long run.

Saving him from the death, pain and disappointment that seems to have stalked Derek, and those he loves, for years.

Maybe even saving Stiles from whatever supernatural shitstorm is round the corner, waiting to take over their lives again.

Derek won't go though.

He can't leave. Not now he knows what it's like to have him.

He's too selfish for that.

He never tells Stiles when he's gripped by these dark moods, never voices all his fears and insecurities, but Stiles seems to sense it anyway. He seems to sense _something._ On those nights Stiles curls round him, his chest to Derek's back and wraps him up in strong lithe arms, completely enveloping him, giving him permission to be warm and safe and whole.

It's like he _knows,_ without Derek saying anything.

Derek can't ever tell Stiles what that means to him.

What it means to be allowed to be vulnerable.

What it means to know you belong.

What it means to feel cherished.

Derek never says how much Stiles' presence helps keep the darkness at bay.

He can't.  
  
Some things are too big for words.

 

o0o

_If you don't know where you are going any road will get you there_

o0o

 

There's a picture of Cogsworth from Beauty and the Beast stuck to their fridge and Stiles has scrawled, “If it's not baroque, don't fix it!” in a speech bubble coming out of the cartoon clock's mouth. Nobody else gets why its there, but whenever Derek sees it he bites back a smile and thinks back to that day when he asked Stiles to marry him.

Of course, the whole having kids discussion got sidetracked by Derek's impromptu proposal, and they've never really mentioned the subject again.

Every now and then though, Derek looks at that cartoon clock and wonders about what could be. Sometimes he allows himself to picture a little kid with Stiles' bright brown eyes, and his own straight dark hair, excitedly watching Disney movies. It makes his heart ache.

In those quiet moments he yearns.

He never brings it up though.

Stiles doesn't either.

It's for the best.

Probably.

Things have been kind of quiet on the supernatural front, but realistically their lives are in no way kid friendly.

Besides, a child would be one more person to worry about.

One more person to lose.

So, he tucks that dream away in the deepest part of himself and resolves never to mention it. He's happy, Stiles is happy. They have so much and they're content. It seems almost greedy to want more.

All that changes though, when Stiles bounds home one day and announces that Allison is three months pregnant.

Stiles is now officially the emissary for the McCall pack. It's involved a colossal amount of training. The subjects he's had to cover have been many and varied, everything from werewolf lore to botany to diplomacy. In that respect this role is the one Stiles was born to play and he's embraced it with his typical enthusiasm. One of the many roles an emissary performs is to offer support to pregnant mothers within the pack. Carrying a werewolf child isn't that different to a human pregnancy, but there can be complications, especially if the mother is human and the child a werewolf. Stiles will need to be on hand throughout the pregnancy, just in case.

When Stiles arrives home and tells Derek about Allison's pregnancy, he's brimming with excitement. He's so overjoyed for Scott and Allison that it makes Derek's heart clench painfully in his chest. All he can think as he tries to listen is that Stiles would be a good dad. He would be the best. 

Stiles rambles on about all manner of pregnancy related things, and Derek listens with half an ear. He knows Stiles well enough to predict that there is going to be an awful lot of pregnancy related research in the near future, but honestly, he's busy trying not to fantasize about how _their_ children would look. He desperately trying not to imagine what Stiles would look like, holding their baby, or what it would be like to have their children scrambling into bed with them on Saturday morning to watch cartoons. He can't seem to help himself though, and suddenly their hypothetical future is playing out before him in his minds eye like some kind of flipbook animation and it looks good. So unbearably good.

He must really have zoned out though, because soon Stiles is snapping his fingers in front of Derek, a look of fond irritation on his face. “Hey! Der! Are you paying attention? I was saying at the moment their baby is developing toenails and fingernails but only weighs about an ounce. That's unbelievable. If I trimmed Scott's claws they'd weigh more then an ounce.”

Derek nods absently and forces himself to pay attention as Stiles launches into yet more detailed explanations.

The next six months are going to _fly_ by.

 

-

 

As Allison's pregnancy progresses, the pack gets steadily more excited. Derek's not sure if it's because Stiles is the emissary or whether it's because it's _Scott's_ baby, but Stiles is _particularly_ enthusiastic. Stiles spends more time researching babies and parenthood than Scott does, and then he ambushes Scott and Allison with questions and random facts every time they meet.

At one point he stays up for forty-eight hours without sleep to compile a dossier on all the different types of assisted delivery methods, just in case it's an issue. He presents the information to Allison at a pack dinner one night with the words, “If they mention Kiellands Forceps cross your legs an ask for a cesarean.”

Scott blanches, but Allison takes the file with an indulgent smile. Derek finds it at Scott and Allison's apartment two weeks later, unread, stuffed under a pile of books.

Of course, regular obstetric textbooks don't provide any information about born werewolves, neither does the internet, and so Stiles takes to poring over ancient grimoirs that he digs out of Deaton's collection. He spends hours looking at them but doesn't seem to find whatever information he's searching for. Now, he sits hunched, books spread out all over the table, while Derek sits reading on the couch. Eventually with a huff of frustration, Stiles stands and starts pacing the room.

"Sooo... can we talk?" Stiles asks anxiously, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Derek looks up at him expectantly. Stiles looks awkward, guilty even. He's shuffling from foot to foot, and he won't quite look Derek in the eye. It's never a good sign.

Derek closes the book firmly and puts it to one side. "Stiles?" he says suspiciously, "What did you do? Have you been eating chips in bed again?" 

"What? No! No, God, the bed sheets are crumb free. I promise! It's nothing like that, it's just..." he trails off. He still won't  _look_ at him.

Derek's stomach drops a little. This isn't like Stiles. Something's  _wrong._

"Just what?" Derek asks.  
  
"It's just-" Stiles gnaws his lip and his heartbeat ratchets up, he scent is sharp with anxiety and guilt, "ahh, y'know what- just- never mind." He turns to sit back at the table, but Derek stands abruptly.

"What is it Stiles?" he says striding across the room and placing a hand on his arm. "Is everything okay? Talk to me."

Stiles glances shiftily from side to side and huffs out a breath through gritted teeth _._  
  
Derek knows he shouldn't think like this but for one horrible second he imagines everything, from Stiles telling him he doesn't love him anymore and that he wants a divorce, to saying that he's got some kind of horrific life-threatening illness.

It shouldn't be the first place his mind goes. He knows he's fucked up in the head. Just because Stiles announces he wants to talk doesn't mean it's something big or terrible. It's probably something trivial. He probably recorded over the latest episode of Elementary or something, but Derek's been in survival mode for a long time now, and even though everything with Stiles is  _so_ good, it's a hard habit to break.

He's used to expecting the worst, and even though they've been together for three years, even though they're married, part of him _still_ can't believe that Stiles is really his to keep.

It's ridiculous.

 _He_ _'s_ ridiculous.

Stiles isn't that guy. He doesn't cheat. He's not walking out. He's not ill. Stiles is fine. Stiles _loves_ him. He knows this.

Derek needs to learn to relax.

"Just tell me," he says, keeping his voice steady. He forces himself to unclench, he's going to stop treating everything like it's a fucking disaster waiting to happen if it kills him. Stiles doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve Derek's insecurities or his fears. He doesn't deserve to be doubted. Derek takes a deep breath and keeps his voice casual, "You know you can tell me anything."

Stiles looks at him pensively, weighing up his options "It's not tell so much as ask," he admits eventually.

"Well you can ask me anything too," Derek says, trying to rack his brains and figure out what could be making Stiles  _this_ nervous this- guilty. "Wait... have you been looking weird sex stuff on the internet again?" he's half joking. He's desperate to lighten the mood a little, for his own sake as well as Stiles'.

Stiles snorts with laughter, "Always," he says with a quick grin, "but that's not what I want to talk about. God. It's just." He purses his lips and exhales noisily, "I want to ask you about born wolves, about pregnancy. I'm trying to research stuff for Allison, but Deaton's books are coming up short. The thing is, you're the obvious person to speak to, but I don't want to pressure you. You don't really talk about that stuff, family stuff, I mean I get why, that wasn't a criticism but..." he trails off uncomfortably.

Derek feels a strange mix of relief and dread pool in his stomach. It's unexpected, not horrific, but definitely out of his comfort zone.

Stiles is observing him closely, a worried look on his face. "Look, sorry... I know it's not easy for you to talk about this. I shouldn't have brought it up."  
  
Derek shakes his head. "No, it's fine. I don't mind." He crosses his arms awkwardly. "I mean, I'm willing to, I just don't know how much help I'll be. I was still quite young when Cora and my cousins were born. I don't remember much."

"Well," Stiles looks apprehensive, "just share what you feel comfortable with. If you want," he says.

The truth is Derek _doesn't_ mind talking about it. It's just that it leads him down the bitter-sweet pathways of his own childhood memories, and that always leaves him feeling a little raw. 

He starts though, they sit together on the couch and he tells Stiles fragments of what it was like growing up in a pack. He doesn't know a lot about the actual pregnancy part, but he tells him what he remembers and then once he starts it's like he can't stop. He talks about roaming around in the preserve with his siblings and cousins on crisp fall mornings. He tells him about the huge family celebrations that occurred to mark the different full moons throughout the year, about learning to control his shift for the first time. Not that it was all like that, there was loads of generic non-werewolf stuff that any kid might experience, like Little League, watching Ninja Turtles or having water fights in the backyard and he tells Stiles about that too.

He talks and talks and talks until he's hoarse and Stiles lets him, listening attentively, even though there's probably very little that's actually relevant to what he wants to know. The act of talking through his memories is cathartic for Derek though. He misses his family, he misses being that kid. The one who existed before the fire, before Kate, before Paige. Before everything burned around him and turned to ash. In some ways it's like the life he's created with Stiles is a tender young sapling growing out of the ash and ruins of his old life, and he wants to put down more roots, wants to nurture it and see it grow. If he and Stiles ever had their own kids... well, he won't think on it. That way madness lies.  
  
That night in bed as he drifts off to sleep, curled round Stiles, he can almost see it. A glimpse, an idea of what their future could be like with kids, of how good it could be.

Truth be told, Derek doesn't have much confidence in his own parenting abilities, he hopes he wouldn't fuck it up too badly, but he trusts Stiles to stop that from happening, to balance out all his flaws and insecurities. He knows that Stiles will make an amazing dad, he'll be fun and warm and demonstrative. All the things Derek worries he doesn't do well.

Ultimately though, none of that matters. Derek's just not sure if Stiles wants kids. Sure, he mentioned it once in passing, but he hasn't brought it up since. Stiles is undeniably young, well, younger than Derek at least, and he's probably not ready for kids yet. He's researching all of this baby stuff for Allison and Scott constantly, and Derek's convinced that if he were interested in starting his own family he would have said something. It's almost inconceivable that he wouldn't have.

Still, Derek worries on it guiltily. He can't count the number of times he _almost_ broaches the topic, but things are so good and he doesn't trust himself not to ruin it by trying for more. He's lucky to have this, and he knows it. So in the end, he remains quiet.

 

-

 

Derek had thought baby fever peaked with the pack when they discovered Allison was pregnant. He was wrong, it reaches new and dizzying heights, when Allison finally gives birth to a healthy baby girl called Tori.

Stiles is at the hospital when it happens, both to offer moral support to Scott and also in his role as pack emissary. Derek misses the birth because he has back to back shifts in his new role as a deputy for the Beacon Hills Sheriff department. The rest of the pack congregates in the waiting room at the hospital and they spend hours texting him en masse every time Allison needs so much as a glass of water, so he doesn't feel like he's missed out too much

By the time he finishes his shifts, visiting hours are over, and Allison and Tori are due to be discharged anyway. So he waits a day or so and then Stiles and Derek go round for a visit together once Tori and Allison are home. When they get there, Scott and Allison's apartment is festooned with balloons, cards and all manner of baby related stuff. It looks like the pack bought out the baby section of an entire department store in their bid to welcome Tori to the pack.

After ushering them in, Scott pulls Stiles to one side to talk about something pack related that's come up, and so Derek wanders through to the living room to try and find Allison and the baby. She's sitting there, her hair swept back in a knot on top of her head, her face free of make-up, singing sweetly to Tori who is nestled snugly in her arms.

Allison looks luminous, beautiful, and for a moment she takes Derek's breath away. She senses his presence, and looks up, smiling softly. “Hey,” she says, “she just woke up, you wanna hold her?”

He nods jerkily and she stands, holding Tori out for him to take. He accepts her, cradling her gently in his large hands, resting her tiny head in in the crook of his elbow, her dark downy hair tickles his arm. Derek's heart stutters in his chest as Tori looks up at him seriously, her big brown eyes slowly focusing on him as he smiles helplessly down at her.

“Hey!” Derek mumbles softly. “Hey Tori!” he sways, rocking her gently. He hasn't held a baby since his cousins... since before the fire. He can feel a lump forming in his throat.

Tori blinks owlishly at him, then yawns and he's smitten.

“Hey Der! Tell Scott what you were saying about...” Stiles begins as he enters the room, but he trails off as he catches sight of Derek and Tori and stumbles over a chair leg. “Fuck!” He exclaims.

“Language!” Allison hisses.

Derek looks up, to see Stiles staring at him wide eyed, his mouth slack. “Hey... Hey Der.” Stiles stammers.

“Hey!” Derek says, smiling up at Stiles widely and then looking down at Tori again. “Are you all right?”

Stiles stands there a second too long, jaw still hanging open, before he shakes himself. “Fuck!” Stiles mutters feelingly.

Allison moves over to him and pinches him on the arm. “Language!” she admonishes, before slipping out to the kitchen to make herself a drink.

“She's less than a week old. She doesn't understand me!” Stiles points out as Allison leaves, his eyes flicking back to Derek, like they've been magnetized. Stiles' heart is jack-hammering in his chest, and his scent is bleeding a jumble of emotion, happiness, longing, and fear. Stiles moves closer, until he's standing at Derek's side and as he leans over to gaze at Tori, his scent settles into something resembling contentment.

“She's beautiful isn't she Der?” he says reverently.

Derek nods. “She really is,” he breathes.

Stiles snakes an arm round Derek's waist and leans his head on Derek's shoulder.

“It's a good look on you,” he mutters, blushing.

Derek looks at him askance.

“Holding a baby,” Stiles clarifies, “you look good. Natural. Happy.”

Derek looks down at Tori and nods. “Thanks,” he says, trying to squash the hope rising in his chest.

There's a pause, while they both gaze adoringly at the tiny little baby cradled in his arms.

Stiles clears his throat awkwardly, “We should do this,” he says nervously, “make one of these, I mean. You'd be such a great dad.” Derek glances across at him disbelievingly, but he looks sincere.

“Really?” he says, “you think so? I mean... you'd want that? With me?”

Stiles glances up at him, and his lips twist into an affectionate smile. “I want _all_ the things with you dumbass,” he says, “haven't you realized that yet? You think I've been obsessing over childbirth and parenting  _this much_  for Allison? Her and Scott asked me to stop weeks ago, but," he looks guilty, "I just couldn't stop thinking about us..." he looks away, but carries on determinedly, "And yes... yes I do think you'd make a great dad. You'd make an _amazing_ dad. I think about it a lot actually.” He blushes, “You'd balance out all my crazy impulses, you're so strong and stable. I think we'd make a good team.”

Derek can't stop the smile that's spreading across his face. “You'd stop me being too grumpy and make sure I wasn't too hard on them,” he admits.

“If we went the surrogacy route and end up with actual Stilinski DNA we may need you to be hard on them,” Stiles counters, grinning back. “I got up to so much stuff when I was a kid, Der. Seriously. You wouldn't believe.”  
  
Derek grins and nudges his shoulder. “Actually, I think I kinda would.”

Tori burbles and they both glance down at her. “Hey Tori!” Stiles croons, crooking his finger under her chin. “It's me, its uncle Stiles, from the hospital, do you remember me?” he tickles her chin gently.

She looks at him with huge pensive brown eyes and her forehead wrinkles in concentration.

“Hey!” Stiles says, delightedly. “Look at that! I think she knows who I am!”

Tori grimaces and there's a long, loud, wet sound from somewhere in the region of her diaper.

Derek snorts, caught between amusement and horror. He and Stiles look at each other and then down at Tori. “Allison,” Derek calls, “You wanna take her back? I think she misses her Mommy.”

Scott comes in, “I'll take her.” he says proudly lifting her out of Derek's arms. “Who's my beautiful girl?” he murmurs adoringly, then winces as he finally catches a whiff of whatever is brewing in her diaper.

“Urgghh,” he says, shooting a betrayed look at Derek and Stiles. “Now I get why you wanted to hand her back. Come on Tori, let's go get you changed.” he slings a diaper bag over his shoulder and disappears up the stairs.

“Smooth Der. Smooth. You're a real class act.” Stiles sniggers.

“She took one look at _you_ and filled her diaper,” Derek points out smugly, as he wraps his arms around Stiles.  
  
"You're such an asshole," Stiles mutters sulkily. Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles sighs. "You're  _my_ asshole though, I guess that's what counts." 

Derek huffs in amusement and Stiles amends. "Poor choice of words or phrasing, or whatever. You know what I mean," he mutters ruefully, wrapping his arms around Derek and leaning in for a kiss.

 

o0o

_My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere you must run twice as fast as that._

o0o

 

Once they decide they want to have a baby, there are a lot of logistics to discuss, but the main one is adoption or surrogacy. They go back and forward on it for ages, but in the end its all decided in a rush when Cora visits. She's living in South America now, but she comes over to see Derek a couple of times a year. She arrives unexpectedly early one Tuesday afternoon and they find her examining a list of the pros and cons of surrogacy and adoption, that Stiles had stuck to the fridge earlier that week.

She looks up at them as they enter the room, and they both stutter to stop as they realize what she's holding in her hands.

“You guys are going to have a baby?” she says gruffly.

Stiles glances at Derek and then shrugs. “We want to,” he admits. “We've not decided how we're going to go about it yet.”

Cora idly fiddles with the cuff of her sweater. “Who were you gonna use as a surrogate?” she asks, looking at both of them with laser focus.

Derek and Stiles look at each other and then back at Cora.

Derek clears his throat, “We've not decided yet,” he says, “whether to adopt or whether to go the surrogacy route.”

Cora rolls her eyes, “Okay, but hypothetically, if you were _going_ to use a surrogate, who would you ask?”

Stiles scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “There are websites,” he begins, “that can connect you with people who are willing, but there's the whole werewolf thing to consider. It just... we were kind of wondering if... I mean...whether it would be something...”

Cora sighs puts the paper down, and folds her arms across her chest, “Spit it out Stilinski,” she says.

“Er... you? We were wondering if it was something you would consider,” he says nervously, shuffling from foot to foot.

Cora looks at them both through narrowed eyes. “Me?” she says, “That's quite a big ask.”

Derek comes to sit next to her at the table, “There's no pressure,” he assures her, “we were just spit-balling. There are plenty of routes we could take.”

“You're damn right there's no pressure,” Cora responds, “but this way, the _me_ way, if we use artificial insemination, you get to have both Hale and Stilinski DNA, right? I mean, that'd be the closest you'll ever get to having a child that's actually genetically yours.”

Stiles gulps and sits down. “True, but that's... I mean... we'd love any child.”  
  
Derek wipes his hands on his jeans, his palms are sweating. Suddenly this all feels very real.

Cora looks between them for a long moment, her lips pursed. “Let me think about it,” she says.

“Really?” Stiles sputters, wincing as he jams his knees against the top of the table in his rush to stand. “You'll think about it?”  
  
“No dumbass, I'm going to refuse point blank to give my only brother, who is the only remaining blood relative I have worth mentioning, the opportunity to have a child with the love of his _fucking_ life. I mean it's not like he ever did anything for me... like give up being an Alpha to save my life.” She rolls her eyes. “Of _course_ I'll think about it.”  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes at her about to respond in kind, but Derek rushes to say, “You don't owe me anything. If you do it, do it because it feels right to you. Not because you feel you owe me. Yeah? You don't owe me anything.”

She looks at him, and her expression softens imperceptibly. “Fine,” she says, “but don't pressure me. Let me look into it in my own way.”

Derek nods in understanding, but Stiles opens his mouth to speak, “I know what you're like Stilinski,” Cora cuts in, “you've probably done stacks of research and have billions of horrifying little facts and figures at your fingertips. Well... I _don't_ want to know. I'll look into it in my own way. Keep your research to yourself. For now.”

Stiles' jaw snaps shut and then he nods. Derek reaches for his hand and twines their fingers together tightly. He can feel Stiles vibrating with nerves as Cora gets up, picks up the paper she's holding and folds it carefully in two before putting it in her pocket.

“I've put my stuff in the guest room,” she says as she makes her way up the stairs.

Once she leaves Stiles sinks back into his chair and sags against Derek, like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Shit just got real.”

Derek wraps a supportive arm round him and kisses the top of his head. “It's out of our hands now,” he says and Stiles nods his agreement.

 

-

 

It's been a week, a whole week since Cora said she'd think about it, and by the end of it Derek feels like he's going slowly mad. He and Stiles are trying really hard to obey the rules that Cora set down, but somewhere along the line, their entire lives started revolving around becoming parents. It's not until now, when they're desperately trying _not_ to talk about it, that they both realize just how much it's taken over every other aspect of their relationship.

One night in bed, Stiles keeps tossing and turning, pulling the covers over himself and then throwing them off in frustration. After twenty minutes Derek reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp, they both sit up in bed.

“What is it Stiles?” he says blearily.

“Nothing! _Nothing,"_ Stiles replies unconvincingly, “I mean... God!” he throws himself back on the bed dramatically. “I just can't stand it any more. I'm trying Derek, I'm trying really hard to be patient, but I just... I _need_ to know, you know?”

Derek sighs and shrugs, “We can't force the issue,” he points out, “we've just got to wait for Cora to make a decision.”

“I know. I know,” Stiles grumbles, scrunching his eyes shut, “it's just, I can't relax until I know and God knows I've tried. Nothing has worked, nothing. I jerked off three times today Derek. _Three times_ , and I'm still as tightly wound as I was when I woke up this morning.”

Derek cocks an eyebrow at him. “You jerked off,” he said, unimpressed.

Stiles cracks one eye open and peers at him guiltily. “Uh... yeah. Don't even front with me, I know you do too.”

“I was in the house Stiles! I don't jerk off if you're in the house!” Derek exclaims.

“Yeah! Well! You were chatting to Cora! I'm trying to win her over by totally avoiding her so I don't annoy her. It's hardly like I could wander up to you two and say 'hey, I'm feeling tense, jittery and I can't stop thinking, could I borrow your brother for a moment? I really need him to suck my brain out through my dick.'”

Derek rubs his eyes and yawns. “Fine. Whatever,” he says levering himself up languidly and then shifting down the bed, adjusting his position until he's kneeling in between Stiles' spread legs.

Stiles opens his other eye, his attention thoroughly caught, “Uh Derek,” he says slowly, “whatcha doing?”

Derek presses a little kiss to the inside of Stiles' thigh and smiles as Stiles shivers in response. “I was going to suck your brain out through your dick, so we can all get some sleep,” he responds, one eyebrow quirked provocatively. “Is that okay?”

Stiles leans up on his elbows looking down the bed at Derek, his eyes lingering over his abs, his forearms and finally stopping at his mouth. He licks his lips in anticipation. “Oh. Well... good... carry on...don't let me stop you,” he says with a cheeky grin.

 

-

 

The next morning Cora tells them she's willing to be their surrogate. Stiles rushes over and clings to her, bursting into tears. Derek stands there, feeling like his heart is going to pound out of his chest. He suddenly feels very dizzy, and he grabs the table for support.

Cora disentangles herself from Stiles and glances across at Derek. “He's not going to be like this the whole time is he?” she asks with wry amusement.

Derek laughs but it comes out as more of a choked sob, “I can't guarantee anything,” he says hoarsely.

Cora reaches over and puts a comforting hand on his arm, a small smile plays on her lips. “You're going to be good dads,” she says.

Stiles sniffles and blows his nose on a tissue, then comes and puts his arm round Derek. “Thanks Cora,” he says, “you're officially my favorite sister-in-law.”

She shakes her head derisively, “I'm you're _only_ sister-in-law,” she points out.

Stiles looks indignant. “If you think I don't count Allison as my sister-in-law you are a thousand percent wrong.”

Cora snorts, “Of course you do,” she replies. “Why am I not surprised.”

 

-

 

Cora agrees to visit on a monthly basis until she's pregnant, then she'll move back to Beacon Hills for the duration of the pregnancy. She's not going to live with them, she'll stay with Lydia, but at least she'll be close at hand. It's a massive endeavor, there are so many little details that none of them have thought about. However, they manage to make it work.

Once they start trying to get pregnant, all three of them develop an addiction to pregnancy tests, crouching together over the white sticks in the bathroom, waiting anxiously for the elusive blue line to appear. After the first couple of months go by with no success, Stiles even tries to follow Cora in to the toilet pre-test 'just to check that she's peeing on it right.' He escapes with all his limbs in tact, but only just.

Finally, after six months of tried and failed artificial insemination, they get their positive result. Derek sees it first, Cora and Stiles are too busy bickering over which brand of pregnancy test is more reliable. His abortive gasp and clutch at Stiles' arm stops them though. They all look down with wide eyes at the tell-tale test. Stiles meeps.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Cora exhales shakily, “We fucking did it.”

Stiles lets out something half way between a sob and a yell and fist pumps the air enthusiastically, then they're hugging, all three of them, in one bone crushing embrace of snot, laughter and tears.

They're going to be parents.  
  
It's actually going to happen.

  

-

 

The first few months pass fairly uneventfully, Cora moves back to Beacon Hills and into Lydia's apartment, which seems to suit everyone. She comes over regularly, and Derek gets used to having his little sister back in his life. He gets used to hearing the dual heartbeat, whenever he sees her, the baby's so much faster than Cora's. Stiles can't hear the heartbeat, which he complains about frequently and vociferously. So Derek takes to tapping the rhythm of the heartbeat out on the inside of Stiles' wrist if Cora comes over, which makes Stiles look at him with gooey eyes and a soppy smile. Even so, he still moans about it a bit, that all stops though, the morning that Cora grabs Stiles' hand and slaps it over her belly, grinning at him like a loon. He stills, cut off mid rant and then gapes at her.  
  
"Is that? Is that-" he stutters out. Derek's across the room in a flash and raises his hand hesitantly, wanting to feel it too. Cora grins radiantly and places his hand next to Stiles'.  
  
"That's your baby moving." Cora says, "So will you stop whining now?" she says glancing at Stiles.  
  
Stiles' eyes narrow, "I'm feeling very emotional at the moment," he says voice cracking slightly, "so I'm choosing to overlook you calling my legitimate complaint, whining."  
  
Cora rolls her eyes, but tolerates Stiles hand on her belly for the next half an hour without objecting once.

 

-

  
  
Nearly six months in to the pregnancy and they're all still buzzing with it. Derek has gone into nesting mode. He's looking at cots on the internet and he's bought paint, so he can test out colors for the nursery, he can't quite decide whether between a pale lemon yellow or mossy green and the walls in the spare room have patches of both painted on them now for comparison. There's a drawer as well, every time they see something cute they buy it and put it in there. There's not too much stuff in yet, a couple of onesies, a soft baby blanket and the crowning glory which is a stuffed toy wolf that Stiles found in a little shop in town.  
  
Stiles is nesting too, although at the moment it's less about decorating bedrooms and buying furniture, and more about googling the shit out of parenthood, pregnancy and childbirth. Derek had thought he'd lived through the worst of this with _Allison's_ pregnancy. He'd been wrong. Stiles spends weeks looking up the pros and cons of attachment parenting, sleep patterns in newborn infants and a whole mess of other stuff, some of which Derek doesn't want to know about. Ever. Not that Derek _complains_ about it, at least, he tries not to. It's in Stiles' nature to want to be as prepared as possible and Derek knows that, he loves that about him actually.

However, even he reaches his limit at breakfast one morning, when Stiles says, "Did you know that there are four degrees of vaginal tear that can occur during labor?” like he's commenting on the weather.

“No Stiles,” Derek says warningly.

"Well there are, first degree... that's basically just skin. Second degree, that's skin and muscle... third degree,"Stiles pauses to stuff some bacon in his mouth.

“Not 'no I didn't know, please tell me'. I meant 'No stop talking. I don't want to hear about this.' I'm trying to eat breakfast,” Derek clarifies swiftly, before Stiles can continue.

Derek doesn't want to know _this_ much detail about childbirth. Especially not when his child is going to come out of his _sister's_ vagina.

Stiles looks contrite.

Derek sighs, he expects this, he is married to a guy who once wrote a history of the male circumcision for Econ. It's not like Stiles is squeamish.

At that moment both their cellphones start vibrating with messages from Scott. There's a wendigo on the loose in the preserve and it's been attacking people, they have a lead and Scott wants them to meet up and finally take it down. Stiles grabs another mouthful of bacon and goes to get changed.

“Make sure you put your kevlar on,” Derek calls. “I don't want a repeat of the harpies.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sure thing _Dad,_ ” he snarks disappearing through the door to their bedroom. Almost immediately he sticks his head back through the door. “Hey Der!” he sing songs, “we're gonna be parents!” he does an excited little shimmy in the doorway, grinning widely at Derek and then disappears back into the bedroom. Derek can't help smiling back. It's been a tradition ever since they got the positive pregnancy test. They both keep randomly reminding each other, because they can't really believe it's true.

From the bedroom he can hear the tell tale sounds of Stiles strapping on the light weight body armor. When shit like this kicks off, everything within him wants to insist that Stiles stay at home, where he'll definitely be safe; he knows he can't do that, it's not his right. However, ever since a particularly violent incident with some harpies he has insisted that Stiles wear some form of protection. He could have lived a thousand lifetimes without knowing what Stiles' ribs actually looked like. He's promised himself he never will again.

Up until the infamous harpy incident Stiles used to complain about how overprotective Derek was, used to protest that he could look after himself, that he'd got this far and was _fine_. That lasted right up until he woke up in that hospital bed and saw Derek, Scott and his Dad sitting next to him their faces ashen, eyes red rimmed from crying. He'd nearly died, and the three people he loved best in the world didn't deserve to lose anyone else. In that moment, he promised to take more precautions.

The wendigo is a dangerous, impossible thing. It takes hours of tracking it deep into the preserve, where cell reception doesn't exist. The fight is brutal and bloody. The wendigo claws Stiles across his chest, which doesn't do much thanks to the body armor, but it does send him flying into a tree, knocking him out. The battle doesn't take long after that, Derek takes some damage to his right leg in the ensuing skirmish, but it'll heal. Eventually, Isaac, Scott and Derek finally manage to finish it off together, eviscerating it before it can claim another victim.

As soon as its finished Derek rushes over to Stiles' crumpled form in a panic, and finds him slowly regaining consciousness.

“Urggh! Shit! I missed it didn't I?” Stiles mutters in a daze, slowly rubbing his head.  
  
_There's going to be a bruise_ , Derek thinks, fussing over him. There's definitely going to be a bruise, he can see it already forming, large and angry on Stiles' forehead, but he'll live. He's going to be okay.

In times past they would have vented their anxiety at seeing each other hurt by screaming in each others faces. Now, Derek bites his tongue and slowly helps Stiles to sit up.

“How do you feel? Are you going to be okay?” he asks gruffly.

Stiles winces. “Yeah! Yeah,” he sits there for a moment, scrunching his face up in pain and rubbing his head gingerly.

Derek hovers uselessly over his shoulder. He _hates_ being reminded just how easily this could be over, hates to be reminded just how fragile Stiles really is.

Stiles looks up at him, and struggles to his feet. He reaches out a hand to touch Derek's shoulder, smiling gently. “It's okay Der. I'm all right. The body armor did it's job.”

 _This time_ ... Derek thinks fear sitting sourly in his stomach. _We were_ lucky _this time._

Stiles has some emissary ritual to go through with the wendigo corpse and then they're all trudging back through the preserve battered and bruised but alive. Sometimes, Derek feels his life is just a series of near misses. It's better then the alternative though.

It's only when they get back near the edges of it that Stiles and Derek's phones start vibrating madly.

Stiles fishes his out of his pocket.

“Missed call,” he says frowning, “several missed calls from Cora, and then more from a number I don't recognize.”

Derek looks down at his own phone and his stomach sinks. “Same here,” he says grimly.

Just then Stiles' phone starts ringing. “It's Lydia,” he says, looking pale, the bruise on his forehead a garish purple, contrasting starkly against the pale of his skin. He answers the phone and Derek can hear Lydia's voice tinny but clear over the other end.

His stomach drops like a stone.  
  
They have to get to Beacon Hills Hospital.

The baby.

Cora.

 

-

 

They arrive at the hospital in a peal of rubber and a screech of brakes. They rush to find the ward Cora has been admitted to. Once there, Derek can see her through the wired glass of the door, as they approach her room. She's sitting there in bed, skin colorless against the sterile white hospital pillows, her dark hair hanging lankly. There are purple smudges under her eyes and her hands fiddle listlessly with the sheets.

A nurse ushers them in.

Cora looks up as they come in and for a moment there's nothing. She stares up at them with vacant eyes.

She looks so pale.

So alone.

So _fucking_ fragile, and that's not right.

There's only one heartbeat.  
  
There's only one  _heartbeat._

Derek can't _fucking_ breathe.

“Der, Stiles,” she says hoarsely, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I lost your baby. I lost your little girl.” The final words are a choked sob and her expression crumples under the weight of her emotion.

Stiles rushes forward immediately.

“Hey,” he says thickly, “don't be sorry, it's not your fault. Cora. It's not your fault.” He wraps an arm around her, and Cora sags into him gratefully, but keeps her gaze on Derek. There's guilt written across her features and pain, so much pain that he knows is reflected in his own eyes.

This is one more loss to take.

One more mark to tally.

This is the bitterest pill of all.

They had refused to find out the gender of the baby, Stiles wanted it to be a surprise, but now he knows. They have a daughter. _Had,_ they  _had_ a daughter.

Derek stumbles forward until all three of them are sitting on the bed. As soon as Derek reaches out and puts an arm round her Cora leans into him, until all three of them are hugging. She clutches at her empty belly with her free hand and sobs, howls almost, it's a noise which seems to be torn straight from her soul. Stiles sheds silent tears, reaching unseeing for Derek's other hand clasping it tightly.

Derek doesn't know what to say. He only knows that he feels like someone has ripped his heart out of his chest and handed it to him. She was nearly six months pregnant. She was passed the stage where losing the baby was a significant risk. This isn't _supposed_ to be happening. It _can't_ be.

He grasps Stiles' hand more tightly and clutches Cora to him, kissing her hair as tears roll down his own cheeks.

He doesn't know what to say, but it seems like nobody else does either.

They stay like that for the longest time, until eventually the nurse comes in and offers to let them hold her.

Her.

Their daughter.

She's a tiny little thing, barely a handful but so utterly perfect. A baby in miniature. Derek can see Stiles' eyes raking over her, trying to figure out what went wrong, but there doesn't seem to be anything.

They have a few precious private minutes together, holding her, trying to memorize every inch of her, but it feels like it's all too soon when the nurse comes to take her away, and then they have to say good bye.

It's not enough. It's never going to be enough.

 

o0o

_You used to be much more...muchier. You’ve lost your muchness._

o0o

 

Life flows on around them, he sees people out and about, driving their cars, doing their shopping, living their _fucking_ lives, like his hasn't just collapsed around him  _again._

He hates being at home. He can't walk passed the spare room. Won't let himself think about the damn drawer. He wants to scream. He wants to punch something, but there's no enemy and there's no-one to blame.

After a week, Cora disappears back to South America to spend time recuperating. It's both a blessing and a curse.

When she's here, every time they see her, it's a sharp reminder of every hope and dream they've lost. Every time she looks at one of them, her face is an open wound, guilt and misery seeping out of every pore. However, now she's gone, Derek misses her. He misses the only flesh and blood relative he has that's still alive and not certifiably insane.

As soon as she turns to get on the plane he wants to he'd grab her, hold her. He wants to  _make_ her stay. He _needs_ his family right now. However Cora needs to not be here and he understands that. So he lets her go.  
  
It wasn't her fault, as the obstetrician said, 'It's nobody's fault, sometimes these things just happen.' It's cold comfort but sometimes there is no reason. Sometimes there's nobody to blame. Sometimes life is just _that_ shit. That's what Derek tells her before she leaves. He knows Cora doesn't see it that way, knows that she feels like her body has failed her, has failed _them_. In the end all he can do is let her go, and hope vaguely that with time their relationship can survive this. All the while trying to deal with his own crippling grief and guilt, because he does feel guilt.

The thing is, even as he's telling Cora that nobody is to blame, he blames himself. He was _stupid_. Stupid to have hoped, stupid to have thought he could have this, when everything he ever touches turns to ash. The more he thinks on it, the more he realizes that this was inevitable, that _he_ is the common factor, the link that unites every terrible thing that happens to those he loves. He poisons everything he cares for.

He looks jealously at Scott, Alison and Tori and thinks how easily everything seems to have come together for them, then hates himself for thinking it, because he knows that's not really true. They've had their struggles too. It's his own fault. He should never have _thought_ about having kids. He's been lulled into a false sense of security, the happiness he's found with Stiles has made him greedy and complacent.  
  
Stiles...  
  
He can't even bear to look at Stiles, can't look at his red rimmed eyes and the devastation on his face. He's infected Stiles' life with this tragedy and the guilt of it overwhelms him.

So he goes back to work.

He buries himself in it, takes every shift he can, because right now, he can't be at home.

He just can't.

When he does go back, he sneaks back in and beds down on the couch. He tells himself it's so that he doesn't disturb Stiles, even though he knows that's a lie.

He can feel the Sheriff watching him closely as days roll into weeks, he looks like he wants to say something, but wisely bites his tongue. There's nothing he could say at the moment that Derek wants to hear.

Nothing.

The dormant flame of his anger has been reignited and he rails against the world impotently. It's not great for his job.

He growls at a teenager who gets brought in for shoplifting.

He grabs a jaywalker by the collar and threatens him.

He shouts at an old lady who double parks in front of the diner and makes her cry.

About six weeks in, he gets called out to deal with a domestic disturbance.

There are children involved and he loses it. He  _fucking_ loses it.

It's all Jordan can do to restrain him and hurry him out of the house.

The damage is done though, there are complaints.

The Sheriff is forced to send him home.

Derek slams the door when he gets in out of sheer frustration and strides angrily around the kitchen clenching and unclenching his fists.  
  
He wants to punch something.

He wants to scream into the void at the unfairness of it all.

He opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of beer. If he can't work he might as well drink. even if he can't actually get drunk. He fumbles, trying to pop the bottle top with a claw, but misjudges it and instead manages to cut himself on jagged glass. He can't even _fucking_ do that right and he hurls the bottle against the kitchen wall, roaring in frustration. The windows rattle with the force of it. He grabs a bowl of fruit and flings that against the wall too, it shatters sending shards of porcelain everywhere, apples and oranges roll uselessly across the floor. None of it makes him feel better.

Beer drips down the kitchen tiles and gathers in a sticky puddle on the floor. Broken glass and porcelain are everywhere. He's made a mess of everything again, just like he always does.

Without thinking, he puts his fist through a kitchen cupboard and the wood splinters and cracks around him. His hand throbs and his blood drips everywhere, but even as watches the wounds begin to close, knitting back together till there's no evidence of the injury. He wrenches the broken door of it's hinges and throws that against the wall too. Just for once he wishes something would leave a _fucking_ scar. Something on his body that reflected the turmoil in his brain.

It's almost like a punishment.

All the injuries he's suffered, all the times he's almost died and to look at him, you would never know. Thanks to his healing there's not so much as a callous on his finger. Not a single scar carried on his body, but so many carved on his heart. Now it feels like all of them are open and raw at once. Infected.

There's a noise behind him. He flinches and turns around.

Stiles.

He's standing in ratty sweatpants and bare feet, his eyes puffy and red from crying. He watches Derek silently, saying nothing.

He's so still.

Derek can't stand it.

“What do you want?” he snarls bitterly.

Stiles looks at him, then takes in the devastation of the kitchen, and inhales shakily. “My husband back,” he says eventually.

Derek averts his gaze guiltily, looking around at the splintered wood and the broken glass. “I'm here. I've not gone anywhere,” he lies.

“Are you sure?” Stiles says, taking a step forward, “I'm asking because, I don't think I've seen you in two weeks.”

Derek balks at the words, turning  his back.

“Hey you fucker,” Stiles says his anger flaring quickly as he takes another step toward him. “Don't do that, don't turn away from me. This isn't just happening to you, she was my daughter too.”

Derek tenses waiting for the onslaught, he doesn't speak. He _wants_ Stiles to get angry. Wants him to lash out. Punch him. Blame him. Wants him to try and leave a scar that'll show. God knows he deserves it.

“Oh that's right,” Stiles says bitterly, “I forgot about the colossal Hale guilt complex, somehow in your little wolfy brain, you've made this all your fault. Haven't you? You've taken all of this on yourself and now your wallowing in guilt, anger and self pity. Well she was my daughter too Derek. You're not the only one who lost someone here.” Stiles' voice breaks, anger giving way to pain. “You can't just cut me out while you sort through this, you can't just _fucking_ disappear. I _need_ you Derek. I'm struggling and I _n_ _eed_ you. Do you get that?”  
  
Derek shudders and chances a glance at Stiles. He looks tired and tearful.

“I need you and I know you need me. We just lost our baby, I'm not about to lose my husband too,” Stiles says softly.

Derek turns to face him then, he can't not, “Maybe you'd be better off without me,” he says, finally giving voice to one of his biggest fears, “I- bad things happen to the people I love. You'd be safer...”

“Stop,” Stiles says fiercely. “Just _fucking_ stop . _Everything_ in my life is better because you're in it.” He takes another step forward. “I _fucking_ love you, Der, we live together, we're married, we've tried for a  _child_ together. Sometimes though, it feels like you don't think I feel- that you don't see how much-" his voice catches, "When are you going to get that I'm just as invested in this relationship as you are? That I need _you_ as much as you need me. If you cut me out now, you make a mockery of everything we've been through. If you walk away from this, walk away because you don't love me, walk away because I'm not what you want; don't walk away because you think _I_ can do better or because you think I'll be safer. There's no-one out there better for me than you Derek. No-one better at keeping me safe. There's no-one else I want.”

Derek feels his anger diffusing, dissipating and in it's place a bone deep weariness settles. He looks at Stiles, really _looks_ at him. He's pale and gaunt. There are dark circles under his reddened eyes, his hair greasy and his cheeks are streaked with tears. He's exhausted, they both are. Stiles takes another step toward Derek, cautiously, his eyes fixed on him, arm outstretched in a placating gesture like he's worried any sudden movement might frighten him away, suddenly he winces in pain.

“Shit! Fuck!” Stiles grimaces, grasping at his foot.

“What!” Derek says panicked.

“I think I trod on a splinter,” Stiles murmurs. “Goddamn, that hurts like a motherfucker.”

Derek steps forward without hesitation and sweeps Stiles up into his arms, bridal style.

“What are you doing?” Stiles says shakily.

“I made a mess,” Derek mutters, “it's not safe for you to be out here in bare feet.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything as Derek carries him through the apartment, into their bedroom and places him gently on their bed. There are snot covered tissues everywhere Derek notes, and he can taste the salty tang of tears in the air.

Stiles leans up on his elbows and watches as Derek sits on the foot of the bed, cradling his foot in his hand and examining it closely.

There's a splinter of wood jutting out of Stiles' big toe.

“Hold still,” Derek says grimly and eases it out as gently as he can.

Stiles hisses in pain as it comes free.

Derek leans down and kisses his toe gently and Stiles' breath catches in his throat.

“I'm sorry,” Derek says hoarsely. “I'm not handling this very well. I look at you and I don't know what to say, I don't know how to make it better, for you or for me.” He glances up at Stiles nervously.

Stiles sighs,“You can't make it better,” he says, “That's not up to you. This situation fucking sucks and there's nothing either of us can do except keep being here for each other. We've just got to keep showing up until we work through it.”

Derek nods slowly, gently caressing Stiles' injured foot as he mulls over his words.

Stiles reaches out toward him with one hand. “Come to bed?” he sounds strangely vulnerable.

“It's two in the afternoon,” Derek points out, but he stands and strips quickly before sliding under the covers. They lay there at first side by side, not touching. After weeks of avoidance all Derek wants to do is wrap himself around Stiles and just hold him, but for the first time in ages he's not sure of his reception.

“Can you... can we... spoon?” Stiles asks tentatively. Derek sighs in relief as he rolls onto his side and Stiles nestles backwards into his waiting arms. Stiles seems smaller, more fragile somehow, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“I missed you,” Derek mumbles into the short hair at the nape of Stiles' neck. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize," Stiles says fiercely, "its been shitty and awful. I'm not handling things well either." He pauses  and exhales a shuddering sigh, "Besides, I've missed you too. So _fucking_ much.”

Derek doesn't rest much. He can't get his mind to quiet, but he does draw comfort from the fact that Stiles drifts off into a deep sleep. He's muttering under his breath, half sentences and made up words, it's nonsense, but somehow Derek feels like he understands it all.

For the first time since it happened, he thinks they might get through this.

 

o0o

_“No wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise.”_

_“_ _Wouldn’t it, really?” said Alice, in a tone of great surprise._

_“Of course not,” said the Mock Turtle. “Why, if a fish came to me, and told me he was going on a journey, I should say ‘With what porpoise?’ ”_

o0o

 

They wake up in the morning and tidy up the kitchen. Sweeping away the broken glass, porcelain and splintered wood.

Later that week they mend the kitchen cabinet and slowly, ever so slowly over the coming weeks and months they begin to mend their lives. Derek goes back to work. Sensibly this time. The pack keeps a watchful eye over them both. They don't have to cook a meal for weeks, and the pack take turns cleaning their apartment, or dropping in on them to check they're okay.  
  
Tori's birth brought the pack together in one way. Natalie's birth brings them together in another.

Natalie.

He can say her name now. He can allow himself to think it without punching something.  
  
At the hospital, the nurse had taken Natalie's handprints and footprints as a keepsake. When they got back from the hospital, Stiles had hidden them in a drawer, because they were too painful to look at. It's Lydia who finds them and then discovers a company online who will take those hand and footprints scale them down and emboss them onto jewelry. She presents them with three dog tags, each on a thin silver chain. They have Natalie's name, date of birth and a perfect hand and footprint etched on to it.

Derek hangs his round his neck, and he knows he'll never take it off again. It's as precious to him the ring round his finger.

He starts texting Cora. He doesn't expect a response. He just wants her to know that he cares, and that when she's ready he's here, he'll always be here. He doesn't blame her for wanting to keep her distance. He can't begin to imagine what this was like for her to go through.

When she does finally respond to a text about a month later, he's over the moon. They start texting again and within a few months they're skyping again regularly. Cora looks wan, but she's healing, mentally and emotionally. Eventually they arrange to go out and visit her.

It's a poignant visit but it's good, and Derek is just so fucking relieved to see her alive and well.

They spend a week chilling out by the beach, enjoying the hospitality of Cora's pack. It's fun, relaxing, just what they needed. It isn't until the penultimate night when they're sitting on the deck under the stars, with the waves lapping at the shore that Cora mentions surrogacy.

Derek can tell that she's been meaning to, she's been quiet all day and her scent keeps souring with anxiety, so he's not surprised when she finally swallows and stutters out, “I- I won't be doing it again.”

Stiles stills and looks across at Derek then back at Cora. Derek grips the arms of his chair tightly.

“The surrogacy,” Cora says, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “I'm sorry. Genuinely, but I can't. I just...” she trails off helplessly, she seems so lost, it's unlike her and it makes Derek's heart ache.

“It's okay.” Derek says hurriedly, “It's... we understand.” 

Stiles nods in agreement. “It's fine Cora,” he says, “we weren't going to ask- we didn't expect-” he trails of looking at Derek for support.

“We get it,” Derek finishes awkwardly, “we're just glad you're okay.”

Cora nods, looking out to the ocean, and Derek reaches instinctively for the chain round his neck running his finger over the etched silver. 

Stiles scrabbles around inside his pocket and pushes something wrapped in tissue paper over to Cora.

She regards it suspiciously.

“It's for you,” Stiles says thickly, “if you want it. It's a memento.”

Cora unwraps it hesitantly.

“Lydia had them made up,” Stiles adds, “she had three done, Derek and I have one each and she, well... we all... wondered if you'd want one too. You don't have to though.”

Cora picks it up and holds it, and gives them both a watery smile nodding her head, “Thanks,” she says in a choked voice. “Thanks Stiles. I love it.”

Stiles smiles as Cora fiddles with the clasp and hangs it round her neck, but he blushes as Cora leans in and drops a kiss on his cheek.

Derek feels the tension seep out of him. It feels like they're drawing a line under this whole chapter.

They may not have Natalie, they may never get to the point where they feel ready to try again for a child, but they're managing to hold on to each other when they could so easily of allowed things to tear them apart. That's what counts.

 

-

 

He and Stiles soldier on. It feels like a battle for a while, there are still arguments and tears and sadness but on balance they are closer now than they were before. Nothing is fixed over night but they are healing and most importantly they're trying to do it together. The pack gathers round them and the Sheriff looks out for them.

Neither of them bring up the subject of children though. It's still too raw. Not that they don't  _want_ a child. He can see the pain in Stiles eyes when they visit Tori, recognizes what it is because he feels it so acutely himself. It's just he's too scared to be put himself out there again, they both are, too scared to try for something only for the universe to snatch it away from them. He knows they could be considering adoption, or even finding another surrogate, but somehow the prospect of diving in to all that feels so big. So intimidating. They need to time to heal, time to regroup.  
  
Despite that, sharing this bereavement with Stiles has settled something deep within him. He knows now that if he and Stiles can get through this and still love each other, and still want to be with each other, then they are going to make it.

There's no question in his mind now, no sudden stab of panic because he thinks that Stiles will suddenly wake up one morning and want someone else, someone easier.

For the first time since his childhood, Derek feels confident.

He's confident in his relationship with Stiles, and in the permanency of Stiles' love for him.

He's confident in his pack and the fact that Scott, as his alpha and his friend, will protect and look out for him and everyone else in it.

He knows now, that even though all of this could be ripped away tomorrow by some freak accident, it won't end because anyone has rejected  _him_.

It's progress.

 

-

 

Its coming up to a year since Natalie was born when Scott calls up and asks if he can come round. Its so unusual for him to ask and not just turn up that both Derek and Stiles are on edge. He knocks on the door too, rather then just letting himself in with his spare key, and when they open it he looks pale and nervous.

“Hey guys,” he begins, stepping inside. He trails off, glancing between them uncertainly. It's unnerving.

“Are you okay Scotty?” Stiles asks in concern.

“Me? Yeah!” Scott says with a high, anxious laugh.

Derek looks at him skeptically. “You don't look okay,” he grunts. “You want to sit down?”

Scott scrubs a hand nervously through his hair. “I am, I just... I'm nervous. I want to talk to you guys about something, ask you something really, but I'm not sure how to start.” he admits.

Stiles shrugs, “You can ask us anything,” he says, “but just so you know, I draw the line at a threesome. I love you dude, but well... apart from anything else I don't think Allison would approve.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but Scott chuckles some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. “Dick,” he says to Stiles, nudging his shoulder affectionately. "Let's go and sit down, we need to talk.”  
  
He makes his way over to their couch and Stiles throws Derek a worried glance before following him over.

Scott sits down but shuffles in his seat nervously. “The thing is...” he begins, and then stops. “Its just...” he begins again before trailing off. He gets up again and starts to pace.

If things carry on this way they'll still be trying to have this conversation at Christmas.

“For the love of God Scotty, tell us, is it Allison? Is she trapped down a well? Can you take us to her? Come on boy! Tell us! You can do it!” Stiles explodes after watching Scott shuffle restlessly about the room.

“Dog jokes?” Scott says with a laugh, “Seriously?”

Stiles pokes his tongue out.

“Fine,” Scott says running a hand shakily through his hair, “I got a call today. Apparently the Harper pack in Oregon has just had a run in with some rogue hunters.” he swallows, “it didn't go well for them, the pack has been all but obliterated.”

“Fuck.” Stiles exhales. “So whats happening? Are we going after them? Are the hunters coming here? Do we need to stock pile weapons? What do you want us to do?”

“No,” Scott says, shaking his head, “it's nothing like that. The hunters have been dealt with. Chris Argent has been up there and sorted them out, you know what he's like about rogue hunters.”

“Especially now his granddaughter's a werewolf,” Stiles says smugly.

“What's this got to do with us?” Derek interjects, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

“Well,” Scott says looking between them nervously, “Chris called me to say that there were two survivors, and he wondered whether you guys would...” he trailed off again, he looks like he might start pacing _again_.

Stiles looks confused. “Whether we would what?”

Scott looks between them both and the words seem to die in his throat and that's when Derek _knows._ He steps forward, and puts a hand round Stiles waist, grasping it tightly. “How old?” he asks.

Scott smiles at him gratefully. “A little boy of four, and a little girl of a year. Aaron and Iris. They can't go through social services because, well, they're werewolves, but they needs someone to take them in. They need parents and a pack.”

Stiles' hand finds Derek's and grips it so tightly Derek fears he might cut off the circulation.

Scott looks between them again, uncertainly. “Look, I know it's a big thing to talk about, and it's only if you want to, but just... think about it okay? Think about it and let me know what you want to do. I'm not gonna stay. You guys should talk about this.” He turns, and makes his way to the front door.

He pauses and looks back at them, “I love you guys, y'know, and whatever you decide, I'll support you. One hundred percent.”  
  
He closes the door behind him and they both stand there in silence. Derek can hear as Scott makes his way down the stairs, starts his car and pulls away. Next to him he can feel Stiles practically vibrating out of his skin with nervous energy.

“It's not what we planned,” Derek says slowly, turning to him.

Stiles shakes his head jerkily, eyes wide, his hand still clenching Derek's in an iron grip.

“If we do this, we're probably giving up on the idea of surrogacy,” Derek adds.

Stiles shrugs. “We could be like the Jolie-Pitts,” he said with feigned casualness, “adopt and have our own.”

Derek snorts, “Let's see how we cope with two, before we start having more shall we?” he says.

Stiles stills and stares at him as Derek realizes what he's just implied.

“So you want to go for it then,” Stiles says cautiously. “You want to adopt these children.”

“I don't know,” he says honestly, “it's all happening so quickly, we've not really talked about it.” Derek reaches up and touches the chain that hangs round his neck. Something in him settles, “If Natalie had lived, if rogue hunters took us out and Natalie had lived. I would want to know that someone had taken her in. Someone who understood and accepted what she was, someone who would love her.” he says carefully.

Stiles blinks back tears. “Me too,” he says hoarsely. “Me too.” he reaches up a hand and draws Derek into a long hug, their hearts pounding wildly in their chests. “We could go to Oregon,” he whispers, “we could go and see if we could help. We don't have to make any decisions yet.”

Derek nods, “Let's do that,” he says, “lets just go and see if we can  _help_. We'll take it one step at a time.”

When he was little Derek's grandma used to tell him that everything happened for a reason, and for the longest while he believed her. She was wrong, he realizes that now. Not everything happens for a reason. That's just bullshit. Random stuff happens every day. Some of it's good, some of it's bad. Some of it's borne out of poor decision-making, some of it is just the universe fucking with you. There's not any discernible cosmic plan, there's not always blame to apportion. Life sometimes happens _to_ you and there's nothing you can do about that. However, one thing he has finally learned is this, even in the worst situations if you can find a way to keep going, then you can find a way to make a difference, to  _be_ the difference.

And sometimes, if you're really lucky, you might find someone who's willing to stand along side you, take your hand, and make that difference with you.

 

o0o

“ _Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”_

o0o

 

In retrospect it was probably foolish to think they would do anything less then adopt Aaron and Iris. Looking back it was ridiculous to think they ever told themselves they were going to Oregon just to see if they could... well, do what exactly? Turn around and say, 'Actually, no, these are not the orphans we're looking for. Okay? Bye.'

With the benefit of hindsight he can see that was never going to happen. At the time though, well, the entire situation had appeared so suddenly on the horizon, that telling themselves they were just going to look was a comforting lie. It was necessary so that they could adjust. 

When they arrive in Oregon, they find the burned out shell of the old Harper pack house, and Derek knows then that there's just no way he's not adopting these kids. If the way Stiles sucks in a breath and grabs tightly at his hand is any indicator than he's not alone.

An emissary from a neighboring pack meets them there and then escorts them to a safe house where the children are currently being cared for, and Derek can feel his heart hammering in his chest as they pull up in front of a nondescript building in a random suburb. For one moment it feels like his whole world is teetering on a precipice.

As he steps out of the car he stumbles, overwhelmed by a flood of memories. Laura and he huddled together under blankets, scared and alone. Living on the run, hitch-hiking their way cross country. Trying hard to keep going as grief. fear and guilt threatened to overwhelm them both, because Laura had felt guilt too. Not the sharp stab of personal responsibility that haunted him, but the dull throbbing ache of survivors guilt. The why them? Why not me? Of it all.

When he and Stiles take Aaron and Iris home... no... if. _If_ he and Stiles get to take Aaron and Iris home, if they get to take them into their family, he'll do everything in his power to love that out of them. Iris will likely be too young to remember, but Aaron, well, he will probably remember something. As they walk to the door Derek can feel his claws pricking involuntarily at his palms at the thought.

They make their way into the house and find themselves in a bland room, with a couch and a TV on. There are a few toys scattered across the floor. A little boy with springy dark curls and brown eyes, Aaron presumably, sits playing listlessly with a truck while the TV blares out in the background.

“Aaron,” says the emissary, “this is Derek and Stiles. They've come to meet you.”

He glances up at them and nods seriously, his mouth an unhappy line before turning back to his toy.

Stiles and Derek gaze at each other uncertainly, and the emissary whispers, “He's not really talked much since... well... you understand.”

Behind them, a woman clears her throat and they turn to see her standing in the doorway, holding a chubby baby in a bright green onesie. The baby burbles and coos, fixing them both with a bright smile. Stiles makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and steps forward automatically, his arms making a little abortive, involuntary movement outward like he wants to hold her.

The woman steps forward with a smile and Iris makes grabby hands at the string of the red hoodie that Stiles is wearing.

“Would you like to hold her?” the woman asks softly.

Stiles nods and reaches out his hands to accept the baby. Iris goes easily, grabbing the string of the hoodie and stuffing it in her mouth as she nestles her head into Stiles shoulder like she belongs there.

Stiles looks down at her wonderingly, and then back across at Derek, eyes shining and a watery grin on his face.

Derek smiles softly, and turns his attention back to Aaron. He pads across the floor, slowly crouching down near him, but not too close.

“Hi Aaron,” he says softly, “I'm Derek, it's nice to meet you.”

Aaron doesn't reply. Doesn't really even look at him, but he doesn't move away and Derek gets that. It's probably the nearest thing to acceptance he's going to get in the face of all the glaring loss which Aaron feels at the moment. So he sits with him in silence for a bit, doesn't ask questions, doesn't push, just allows them to be near each other. Allows Aaron to get used to their presence, their scent, their sudden but necessary intrusion into his life. 

They stay for an hour, and that's the first day.

The next day goes much like the first, and the one after and the one after that, they both try and spend time with each child. Iris is easy, too young to really appreciate much of what is going on. Aaron though, he's quiet and withdrawn, so far removed from what any four year old _should_ be that Derek's heart aches for him.

On the morning of the fifth day they get up and make their way to the safe house and Derek knows now, they both do. They're invested. They're going to adopt these kids no matter what it takes. When they arrive Iris is in a high chair, dribbling mashed banana everywhere and Aaron is sitting in his familiar spot, playing quietly with a truck.

After dropping a quick kiss on Iris' forehead, he goes to sit with Aaron, greeting him softly. Derek finds a toy car of his own and begins mirroring Aaron's play, but keeps a respectful distance and doesn't try and talk too much. It takes a few moments, but he can feel Aaron's eyes watching him as he pushes his own truck around, and his heart skips a beat in his chest. This is something, this is progress.

“You're doing it wrong,” Aaron says softly, “the wheels have to go like this.” He pushes his truck hard and the wheels spin wildly.

“Ah!” Derek says sagely, “thanks for showing me.”

Aaron side-eyes him, as Derek mimics the movement and makes some car noises. He seems to find it acceptable and Derek holds his breath as Aaron edges a little closer. A sudden silence descends in the room as everyone turns to watch. This is progress, this is the most anyone has seen Aaron interact since his pack was wiped out. Stiles heart sounds like its going to beat out of his chest, and Derek's own is not much better.

Aaron reaches out a chubby hand. “You can have this one too, if you want,” he says, passing Derek a green motorbike, “but be careful, we don't want any accidents.”

“I'll be careful,” Derek hums in agreement, his hands shaking slightly as he takes the bike. Aaron looks at him pensively and nods, before turning back to his own game.

Derek glances up at Stiles, his heart full. It's not much, it's not much at all, except it's everything.

 

-

 

They stay in Oregon a month, visiting Aaron and Iris every day, spending incrementally more time with them. Easing the children, and themselves, into this new relationship. Adoption in werewolf packs is different than humans. More informal maybe, but there's still paperwork to be completed. Stiles, as the McCall pack emissary is called upon to be involved in some of the finer points, wrangling out the details.

It's stressful, but for the first time in ages it's a good stress. This is happening, and although it may not be how they imagined it for all those months, somehow it feels right. They feel right together. All four of them. Derek likes to think that Natalie would approve. That his family would approve. That they're doing something good.

Before they know it, it's all been agreed and they're strapping Aaron and Iris into their car and preparing to drive back to Beacon Hills. Derek reaches up and fiddles with the chain round his neck, his heart full. In the back Iris burbles happily and Aaron sits pensively watching everything with bright brown eyes.

Stiles turns to smile at Derek, eyes shining. He's not saying anything, and for once it seems Stiles is the one who can't find the words. Every emotion he's feeling is written large upon his face though, and Derek knows. He just _knows._

"Let's go home," Derek says softly.

Stiles nods and starts the engine, he's too overcome to speak, and Derek gets it.

This is it.

This is their family, and they're going back to Beacon Hills, back to their pack.

They're going home.

 

o0o

 

 

 

 

I can be found on [tumblr](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/) here.  


**Author's Note:**

> Derek and Stiles decide to have a baby and Cora agrees to be surrogate. Unfortunately she suffers and early stillbirth/late miscarriage at around 5/6months. The rest of the fic deals with the way Derek and Stiles handle share their grief, learning to live with it and eventually going on to adopt two children instead. 
> 
> This fic is in part inspired by the fact that there are a few people in my life who are Derek Hales, their lives seemed to be marked by more tragedy then most of us ever experience. However, even in the face of that they still find a way to keep going, and I'm always astounded and inspired by their resilience and their courage.
> 
> I've tried to handle the subject of pregnancy loss as sensitively as I can, hopefully that shows. I wanted to deal with not just the bereavement itself, but to explore at least a little, how they move forward after experiencing that bereavement while still carrying that loss with them. 
> 
> Also a couple of notes on why I chose to use the Alice in Wonderland quotes. 
> 
> Some of the themes and motifs in the original book, for anyone who hasn't read it are:
> 
> 1\. loss of innocence/growing up  
> 2\. The shifting nature of Alice's identity. (People fail to recognize her for who she is and she doesn't really know herself and she changes throughout the book. Sometimes physically.)  
> 3\. The fact that death is always an underlying threat. (Although not one that Alice always takes seriously.)  
> 4\. Meaninglessness/nonsense. Alice tries constantly to understand and reason with what is happening around her, however Wonderland is a world where nothing makes sense. 
> 
> Quite bleak themes for what is in essence a children's book! However they remind me of Derek Hale particularly, who lost his innocence at a young age, who has faced death so often that he basically seems to be in fight or flight mode for the first two-three seasons of Teen Wolf. We see him constantly unsettled in terms of his own identity, he plays various roles in the series (possible antagonist, alpha, brother, mentor) but he is never really given time or space to settle in to any of them. I wanted to explore that a bit, I don't believe it would be easy for canon Derek to settle into any relationship given his history, however I do believe he would push himself to take himself out of his comfort zone and make it work.
> 
> Kudos, comments and even concrit is welcome. :D


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